


You're The Bait

by Camerahead12



Series: Destiel Promptober [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 23:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21024353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camerahead12/pseuds/Camerahead12
Summary: Day Three: Doorway and Bait





	You're The Bait

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I'm the type of person that if you throw out any type of word, I try and make it as angst filled as possible. 
> 
> I'm not even sorry.  
*manic laughter in the distance*

The plan was a simple one.

He just had to lure the vampire to the doorway. That was it. Sam was waiting for him just outside of the doorway with a machete ready to cut the bastards head off. Cas was waiting in the car that was parked a mile or so down the road, waiting for Dean to call for him if shit hit the fan. They couldn’t risk the angel being so close just in case the vampire could sense him.

Dean takes out his knife, placing it on his forearm, and cut down to his wrist, hissing in pain. He squeezed his hand in a fist, feeling the wetness of his blood run down. This was a fucking stupid plan. They usually did this kind of shit in the daylight, when vampires were sleeping, but nope. According to Sam it had to be done tonight, right as they rolled into town.

Apparently this vampire had been terrorizing the town for months, picking off people here or there, and leaving their bodies out in the open for families to find in the morning. It had already taken down two other hunters, so Bobby called them in because he knew they were close. If one vampire could take out two other hunters, Dean wonders what kind of hybrid strength this vampire had.

“Here vampy vampy,” Dean whispers walking deeper into the abandoned house. “Smell that? Breakfast time.”

The floorboards creak above him, and Dean freezes. Minutes tick by and no other sound is heard except for his shallow breathing and the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He swallows thickly and takes another step, glancing out a broken, dusty window to the left of him. The last colors from the sunset are bleeding across the sky in an eerie red haze.

Dean squeezes his sticky hand tighter as he approaches the staircase. Dust coats the railing, and he wonders if maybe the actually have the wrong house. Shouldn’t the windows be boarded up, too? As quietly as possible, he steps onto the first step breathing out relief that it doesn’t make any noise. The second step groans a little bit, and Dean pauses listening for any movement.

By the time he reaches the top of the stairs, twilight has settled into night. Dean reaches into his back pocket to pull out his flashlight and points it to the floor as it clicks it on. Dust motes float around the beam and he moves forward across undisturbed dusty, floor.

The world begins to spin for a minute and Dean leans against the wall shaking his head trying to focus.

“Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand that holds the light.

He pushes off the wall, pointing the beam ahead of him as he hears a bang ahead of him. Swallowing thickly, Dean takes another step forward towards the noise.

The first room to his right has the door open. He walks inside, shining the light around but sees nothing other than an empty space. Dean exits and walks up to the next room, slowly opening the closed door, leaving behind a bloody handprint on the doorknob, and thanking whatever deity is listening that it doesn’t squeak.

It is a bathroom that looks like something out of a horror movie. Mold and rust cover the tub, tiles have fallen from the walls leaving behind something black and fuzzy in its place. He steps back out into the hallway eye the last door to the right ahead of him.

Another wave of dizziness hits him as places his wet, bloody hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly. Dean shakes his head trying to get his focus back and throws open the door shining his flashlight off to the right.

Two mattresses lay on the ground, with two lumps laying atop them. Dean quickly swings his flashlight to the left, seeing three more mattresses and a boarded up window, and clicks off the flashlight quick. Holding his breath, he backs out of the room as quickly and quietly as possible, keeping his eyes ahead of him just in case one of the vampires woke up.

Of fucking course it’s a nest of vampires! One vampire couldn’t take down a hunter, let alone two! They should have taken another day just to do some research, even if Bobby was reassuring them it was, in fact, one vampire. Damnit, and here he is bleeding all over the place and getting light headed.

Halfway down the stairs he clicks back on the flashlight, pointing it to the bottom. He’s almost out. He just has to make it to the front door and they can get the hell out of dodge and come up with a better plan on how to take out a nest of vampires.

Dean steps on the second to last step and it gives a loud groan under his weight. Freezing he, grips the flashlight tighter listening for anything coming from upstairs.

After a moment of silence, he steps back on the first floor and starts walking with a quicker pace to the front door. The beam of light from his flashlight reflects off the trail of blood like a bad version of Hansel and Gretel until it gets to the beginning where he sliced himself from the start.

“Another hunter,” a smug voice says.

A thin, tall male figure steps out of the shadows into his beam of light, blocking his only known exit. The pale man tucks a strand of long, brown hair behind his ear, almost like Sam would, and Dean cannot help but thinking about how badly Sam needs a haircut.

“You guys just keep comin’. You’re like insects, really. Never knowin’ when to quit,” he chuckles and takes a few steps forward, to which Dean takes one backwards, his back hitting the wall behind him. “Mighty big gnash you got there, pretty boy. Why don’t you have me take a look at it for you?”

Dean opens his mouth to yell for Sam, but something hits his arm, knocking the flashlight to the ground. The only source of light bounces and spins on the ground, making Dean’s dizziness increase to the point he feels like he’s going to throw up, and then he feels hands squeezing around his neck.

A nose presses against his neck as he hears the vampire take a deep inhale. A warm, wet tongue clicks at his bleeding arm, and he hears a feminine giggle. Dean grabs the hand around his neck with his free hand, trying to loosen the grip somehow. If anything, the pressure on his throat increases. He tries and fails to get out any sound, thrashing as much as he can.

The long haired male laughs, pulling back from his throat, eyes bloodshot. “Feisty, aren’t you?”

Dean’s vision begins to darken on the edges. He tosses his head back and forth, fingers gripping onto the vampires trying to pry his fingers from his throat. The wet mouth on his bleeding arm seems to have multiplied. The light tongue swipes across his skin make his fingers twitch, tickling somewhat.

“We usually have a bit more time to enjoy our meal, but seeing as you’ve already lost so much blood, well…”

The darkness as almost swallowed up Dean’s vision, making it seem as if he’s seeing the man from down a tunnel. He thinks he is saying something else, but he’s too far away to hear. Dean feels his hand fall against the wall he’s pinned up against, head falling forward against the man’s stone grip.

And then he’s falling. Behind his eyelids the room lights up like daylight, and his ears are ringing like crazy. He falls onto the ground and tries to take in a mouthful of air, but his throat feels like a ton of bricks are laying on it. Dean tries to get his hands to work properly, to somehow remove whatever the hell is squeezing his throat so tight he cannot breathe, but they don’t seem to be listening.

The daylight fades back into blackness, and his lungs begin to burn from lack of oxygen. Dean feels something warm touch his forehead as his insides feel like they’re being set on fire. Something heavy pushes down on his chest as the ringing in his ears turns into screaming.

His screaming. He’s breathing.

Dean’s eyes fly open as the bright blue light coming from Castiel’s grace fades away. The angel is looking down at him with wide eyes, fingertips still pressed to his forehead, his other hand gripping tightly onto his shirt right above his heart.

“Nest,” Dean whispers, searching Castiel’s still glowing blue eyes. “It was a nest of vampires.”

“I took care of the four feeding on you, and your brother is upstairs taking care of the last one,” Castiel replies, brushing his hand over Dean’s forehead before pulling it away.

Immediately missing the touch, a small noise like a whimper sneaks past Dean’s lips, but he cannot bring himself to care. He almost died. It wasn’t in some stupid battle, going out like a warrior. It was because of some stupid, rookie mistake that his dad would kick his ass for if he was still alive. Hell, he might actually come back from the dead just to kick his ass. This was Hunter 101 and he _knows_ better than to go into something that they haven’t looked into. 

“Your eyes are s’ill glowin’,” Dean whispers.

“You almost died,” His voice comes out strained, the blue glow slowly fading away.

“I almost always die, Cas. S’nothing new.” Dean mumbles, turning his head away.

He feels Cas’ fingers curl into his shirt, and the next thing he knows Castiel has lifted him up, they lips barely a breath apart. “You were a few seconds away from – from…”

Dean feels the faintest touch of his lips against his as he speaks. It would only take the slightest bit of movement to just close the distance between. Only a little sway forward and –

Castiel surges forward, capturing Dean’s lips almost violently. Teeth nip at his lip before Dean registers exactly what is happening, and gets his own lips to respond greedily back against Castiel’s. Their mouths open, tongues flicking and licking against each other they’re both starving for it. Both Dean’s hands have somehow wandered into Castiel’s hair on their own accord, and he grabs a handful, dipping his head and shoving his tongue in deeper. Castiel tastes like what he thinks heaven must be, and he cannot get enough. Castiel’s hand is still gripping the front of his shirt, but his other is wrapped around him like a warm, steady reminder that he is _safe_. He is _alive._


End file.
